


who'd have thought

by samodiv



Category: The Secret of Moonacre (2008)
Genre: Clueless Robin, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Maria is Strong, Marmaduke is a sweet sweet man, Robin POV, meet my OC Billy he's a stud, there's a lot of cooking in this fanfic and I have no idea why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samodiv/pseuds/samodiv
Summary: Robin doesn't know he's in love with Maria.that's literally all there is also I'm very sorry





	who'd have thought

**Author's Note:**

> dani i hope you're happy

“She’s grown into quite the woman, eh?” Billy nods in the direction of the sparring ground where Maria is swinging her sword in fury, her deadly dance with Robin’s uncle more elegant than ever. Robin just smirks, punches Billy’s shoulder lightheartedly for good measure. “Aye,” he mutters, watching her steps closely. He can’t honestly say he sees much a difference in Maria; he’s been so close to her these past years that he’s quickly grown accustomed to any new feature of hers. Yet, she’s to be eighteen this month, as Miss Heliotrope’s recently told him with knowing eyes. She’s not a child anymore, and neither is he, running close to twenty-one and restless to get older, wiser. They’ve both grown, he supposes—the Maria that clumsily tore his hand open with a sewing needle now wields any weapon as well as all his men, all courtesy of his uncle’s training, and the boy he was that led the ambush on her carriage is now a man much tamer, one that enjoys tavern brawls way less than calmly reading by the fireside.

He’s the first literate de Noir in many generations. The row between their clan and the Merryweathers placed being able to read way back in the list of skills deemed necessary, and eventually simply proclaimed it irrelevant. Maria was mortified upon learning of this. _How do you travel, then? Your feet can only carry you as far as your eyes can see, and there is much to marvel at that can’t be witnessed!_ , Robin recalls her exclaiming. The first days of learning the alphabet seemed an endless torture: four years later here he is, a solid fifty books in. Only English ones, of course, despite those being a rather small portion of sir Benjamin’s enormous library; Miss Heliotrope’s desperate attempts to make him learn French are still futile, even if he’s tempted by the ability to understand what she and Maria sometimes whisper to one another (Maria’s cheeks flushed, her glance flicking to him when she thinks he isn’t looking). Well, he’s a gentleman now, and he knows ladies’ secrets are not for him to pry upon.

“What’s got you thinking this hard?” Billy muses in a joking tone. Robin startles, then sighs, absently scratching the back of his neck. “Maria’s birthday is this month, I should get her something.” “I’m gon’ get jealous, Rob.” Robin turns to raise an eyebrow at the lad. They’ve been through this. “Billy…” “Just messing with you,” he chuckles. “C’mon, let’s get supper.” They head for the kitchen building, Billy letting him in on some new gossip about the men. Everyone is up to something, it seems, but how would Robin know, he spends most of his time in the Merryweather castle these days. Thomas is getting married, apparently. Robin finds this hard to believe, Tom is, what, a year older than him, two? How could he get tied up this early on in life? The concept of marriage sounds so _foreign_. Robin can’t imagine himself at the altar, what to speak of a potential spouse. Not that any but Billy would have him, and he doubts he could take a lad’s hand. Besides, they’re just mates that sleep together. (Robin dreads the day in which Billy will get himself a wife.)

After lunch, Robin rides over to the Merryweather castle. His sister and Benjamin are on a two-week romantic getaway, as it’s five years since their wedding, and they’ve left his tiny niece for Maria and Miss Heliotrope to look after, so he’s taking one for the team and helping out whenever he’s got some free time. Dorothea is a sweet babe through and through, he doesn’t exactly mind looking after her, not to mention the whole situation gives him an excuse to spend more time with Marmaduke.

Robin never expected to find himself enjoying cooking. Stranger things have happened, he supposes.

Turns out the little one is taking her afternoon nap when he arrives, so he goes straight to the kitchen. Marmaduke is covered with flour and his buzzing around the place makes for  a snowstorm-like view. Robin fails to stifle a giggle, and the whirlwind ceases as the cook stops in his tracks in mock horror. “Why, monsieur, you seem to be early,” he remarks, and Robin shrugs. “Kid’s asleep. What’ve you got going on in there?” he nods towards the oven. Marmaduke grins and rubs his small hands together. “I came across this wonderful recipe for brioche, and since sir Benjamin is away...” Robin nods to that; Marmaduke has not stopped praising his temporary creative freedom. Nor has he stopped expressing his exasperation at the lack of variance in the house’s ordinary menu. “Foolish stuck-up aristocrats with their limited tastes! See now, you take a cup of fine sugar, two dozen eggs, them large ones…” Robin just lets the cook ramble on and picks up an apron, rolling up his shirt’s sleeves with a smile on his face. Marmaduke has such a calming effect on him, despite his chaotic style and constant babbling—in fact, probably due to those as well. Robin finds comfort between the walls of this kitchen like he never has elsewhere.

They spend the next few hours making more brioche, Marmaduke’s spin on gazpacho, baked potatoes stuffed with ham and cheese (for dinner), as well as croissants. Robin’s just about done making tea when the ladies and Digweed join them in the backyard garden come afternoon. “Where’s the tiny princess?” Robin asks. “Still in bed, thank God,” Miss Heliotrope exclaims, Maria shaking head with badly-stifled laughter at her nanny’s struggle. The woman loves children alright, she simply frets over them too much for her own good. Robin somehow manages to convince Marmaduke to sit down and have a cuppa with them instead of starting on a parfait, _again_. “They’ll be gone two more weeks, you have time to cook all your extravagant fineries!” “Frankly, Marmaduke, I’m sure uncle wouldn’t mind—“ Maria starts, but the chef just tuts. “See, princess, the battle between sir Benjamin and elegant cuisine is older than you, and I reckon will outlive you as well. Man only loves his steak.” Maria catches Robin’s eyes and they simultaneously start laughing, as if on command.

During dinner, Dorothea is showing off her ever-improving speech abilities. She has been steadily progressing since her first words (“dow wann”, two and a half years ago, which by mutual agreement meant she wanted a doll), and has now almost mastered complex sentences. They’re all charmed by her: she’s always got a serious look on her miniature face, and finds the most mundane things curious. What makes the soup wet? Why does the lion make funny sounds when we scratch his tummy? Why is Miss Helili’s tummy loud? (She’s still working on the pronunciation, and usually alters between Helili and Hetoffee. Miss Heliotrope finds it endearing. Digweed’s coughs get increasingly peculiar with each time.) Why don’t we have a flying thing that sneezes fire? “Er, a dragon, you mean?” Robin suggests. His niece enthusiastically nods. “Yes! _Dra_ -gon, that. Why don’t we have one?”

“Dragons don’t exi-“ he starts, but sees Maria shake her head. Right. Small children don’t differ folk tale from truth, and telling them they’re wrong oft leads to hysterics. Robin scrambles for a way to amend himself. “Uh, they don’t exist in _England_ , honey. They like to stay up in Scotland, cause they’ve got more… caves… up there. And dragons like getting all cuddled up in caves.” Dorothea lets out a disappointed sigh, then almost immediately jumps in her seat. “Then, we can visit them in Scotland! And get one! As a pet!” “They wouldn’t like it here, sweetie, it’s too warm down here,” Maria tries to explain, and Robin rushes in, “Plus, I’m not sure Wrolf would like a dragon up his tail. You know he’s all protective of his turf.” Maria shoots him a thankful look, and he winks at her. Dorothea, as it turns out, hasn’t heard the word “turf”, and demands a thorough definition. “We’re doomed,” Robin turns to mouth at Maria, and she giggles helplessly.

Eventually, they’re all trying to get Dorothea to go to bed. “One more, one more!” she keeps squealing, but it’s been “one more” the last fifteen times. Robin takes her tiny hands in his and tries to straighten his voice. (The last question was inventive, and he’s finding it hard to stop laughing.) “You have _one_ more question, princess, and then you’re off to sleep, alright?” She slowly nods, blinking as if to show agreement. “Alright. Go.” “Robin?” she starts, and he smiles softly. “Aye, dollie?” “Are you in love with Maria?”

“Dorothea Merryweather!” Miss Heliotrope exclaims before he’s managed to even wrap his head around the question. “Of course not! We’re best friends,” he hears a voice that isn’t his, and turns around to find it belongs _to_ Maria. “Yes, we’re… the best of friends, sweetcheeks,” he agrees, forcing the confused grimace that he’s sure has formed on his face into a grin. He catches Marmaduke looking at him in worry, and that’s enough to tell him he needs to leave the castle. Now. Marmaduke loves assuming, and _that_ is not one of his soothing qualities. Robin all but recites his apologies and good-nights as he rushes out the door.

The ride home is heavy on contemplation. He’s never thought about this, and perhaps he should have. _Is_ he in love with Maria? No, he’s—well, she’s a lovely lady alright, but… and they’re practically related, aren’t they? Loving her, that he’s sure about—he loves this girl with all his heart, has for as long as they’ve been close. She’s dear to him, and he feels deeply for her, would keep her from harm’s way if she ever failed to do so herself, as implausible as that is. Her company is pleasing, her council – sought and appreciated. Yet he’s never wondered if his love exceeds platonic, mostly as he’s found romance disgusting all his life. No, he can’t possibly be _in_ love with her, he decides. (Then why did her answer hurt him this much?)

He leaves Wyrda at the steeds and heads straight to the tavern, his mind full of twisted thoughts which he _has_ to drown. He needs quiet. Billy’s sitting in a corner with Tom and Eddie, Robin spots them as soon as he walks in. He gets a bottle of mead and strides over to his men, trying to school his face into some semblance of a smile. It takes Billy one look, and then he bolts out of his seat, doesn’t even say a word of parting to the other two. He knows him well. He asks only after they’ve exited the tavern. “Your place?” Robin nods, opening the bottle. They take turns drinking as they walk. Robin lives closer, and on his own, now that he’s moved out.

“Ya wanna talk?” Billy raises an eyebrow while closing the door behind them. Robin shakes his head. They’ve been through this. Billy’s eyes shimmer with the reflected light before Robin blows the candles out.

\---

The next morning, Robin wakes up in an empty bed, the sheets still cold with sweat. Billy always insists on leaving during the small hours of the morning, and Robin understands. It's a small town, and Billy's mother for one would notice if he came home too late. Plus, their agreement is harder to justify when they lay side by side, illuminated by the first sunrays. He still wishes the lad would stay sometime, doesn't like waking up alone after falling asleep with company.

Him and Billy have been doing this for years. When their bodies started changing, they decided to experiment with these new-found urges. They’d already been best mates since childhood, it only seemed natural. It was a mess of a night that first time, Robin still has a scar where his neck and shoulder meet from how hard Billy bit him. They're more tender now, they've learned just what drives the other over the edge and they are best mates, after all - they like making each other happy just as much as each enjoys making the other squirm. It's not anything serious, really, and both of them know it. Once one of them finds himself a woman, this will be over. Robin has the solid suspicion that Billy is playing hard to get with Rosie, the butcher’s girl, out of pity; he knows Robin isn't looking for a bride just yet. They're going to have to talk about this at some point. Billy shouldn't be restricting himself. And what if Robin never finds himself a lady? Lads don't tie the knot with lads, not round this valley.

When he steps outside to wash his hair, he’s startled by Maria standing in the doorstep. "Jesus, M," he laughs out. She hands him his crossbow with a quirk in her face that he can't figure out. "Took it earlier," she shrugs. Then adds in a humored tone, "Hope I didn't stir you in your sleep. Or your _guest_."

Robin tries to straighten his face despite the urge to be sick.

"Yeah, Bill stayed over," he attempts a shrug, a nervous smile. She huffs impatiently. "I'm not going to tell on you, Robin, you know I wouldn't." He knows, of course. It's not about this. "Let's just... talk of this later, eh?" He throws over his shoulder, turning towards the well. For some reason, he can't look at her. "Sure," he hears her mutter as the sound of her steps grows fainter. He grabs two handfuls of cold water and splashes his face. Boy, does he have issues.

At noon, he is straddling his Wyrda, ready to head to the Mettyweathers’, when he sees Maria walking towards him through the hay field. She waves her little hand, uncertainly, and he smiles to himself. She's wearing the red dress again, and the sleeves have always fascinated him on it. "Mind if I ride with you? I walked here earlier." Robin just motions for her to hop on.

As her arms enwrap his torso on the way, Robin's entire face burns. They haven't ridden together in a while. And they've never ridden together with him feeling as naked as he does currently, now that the Moon Princess knows his one secret. She doesn't say a word the whole time, but he knows she wants to, he can always sense when she's keeping a question inside. As he's tying the horse, he notes, making sure to sound as careless as possible, "It's not a serious thing, we know this can't work." Maria furrows her brows in confusion. "I only wanted to say I'm happy for you."

Robin doesn't know why her words makes him feel so ill. He licks his lips, mutters something about how they should check on little niece, and they rush inside the castle, a quiet distance between them.

Little princess is playing with the bows and ribbons on Miss Heliotrope's dress while the nanny is laughing in her usual I-swear-I'm-not-completely-horrified way. Robin slips away once he's convinced that Maria will be able to handle the situation.

When he enters the kitchen, he must look like a wreck; Marmaduke raises an eyebrow at the sight of him. “Something easy today, then? Haven’t taught you how to master a broth yet, have I?” the cook offers, rubbing his little hands together. Robin just shakes his head and fetches himself an apron, flashing him a thankful smile. “Let’s get to it.”

\--

The week goes by fast - a fire in Robert's barn makes for a lot of work needed, and Dorothea is growing a tooth, so Robin doesn't get much time to sit down and think. Frankly, he's relieved. He’s not sure he wants to dwell on any of it, on the prospect of Billy leaving him, of Maria severing ties with him, of aging alone. When he’s not helping rebuild the walls of the barn or trying to get his niece to stop crying, he’s in the Merryweather kitchen. Marmaduke keeps him occupied, which Robin is beyond appreciative of. They’re slowly going through the cook’s books, trying to compose the perfect menu for Maria’s birthday. It’s not going to be a big feast or anything, but nothing can convince Marmaduke this doesn’t mean it needs to be _dazzling_. Robin still hasn’t figured out what to get her. The cook isn’t overly helpful with that, sadly. “You can’t get her a book because she’s read more than us both, you can’t get her a dress because you are in severe lack of taste, not to mention there ain’t many tailors that make elegant garments ‘round here, she already has a pet, weapons as well…” the older man trails off as they’re sweating over a crème caramel on Sunday. Robin groans. All of this is true, of course; everything Maria cares for she already has. He’s considered buying her a necklace, or some jewelry in general—however he truly lacks taste, how could he choose something and be sure she would like it? The natural solution – to ask Maria about it – comes to him, but that would be rather dull of him, right?

In the evening, he asks Billy, attempting to make it sound casual as could be. “Say, where can a fella get a fine necklace round here? Bertha still makes ‘em, yes?” Billy arches an eyebrow at the query. “Mate, not sure she’d have anything to suit you.” “Not for me,” Robin grins, nervously. “Uh, Maria’s birthday is soon, I’m not sure I told you-“ “Only a dozen times by now,” Billy cuts him off, joke in his tone. “Get off my back, lad,” Robin shakes his head, chuckling. Billy irks an eyebrow at that. “Not what you said the other night, _lad_ ,” he whispers, inaudible to the men sitting at the next table in the pub and yet loud enough for Robin to feel goosebumps run down his spine. Damn this boy and his clever tongue, he curses in his mind, downing his ale at once and slamming the jug on the table before storming out the door, fully aware Billy will be at his feet. His mate really knows how to get under his skin.

Benjamin and Love are returning in three days, and Marmaduke’s desperation is becoming borderline manic. Robin is losing track of the foods they’ve been making; he recalls cooking a Russian dish himself, and he’s not particularly certain about _where_ Russia is, where is Marmaduke even getting his cookbooks from?! Maria’s birthday menu is slowly but surely taking shape, mostly due to Robin’s attempts at keeping it at least European-only. (Not that he finds Indian cuisine unfitting, or anything, but the line has to be drawn _somewhere_ ). Maria’s gift, on the other hand… He’s asked Bertha, which only earned him a giggle badly-covered up as a cough and a “Sweetie, there are better things you can get your princess than my trinkets.” At this point, he’s considering consulting Miss Heliotrope. (What’s stopping him is she’s been eyeing him in a rather perplexing manner as of late, and he’s with the distinct impression that she, too, would be of no help.)

“This is fucking bull, mate!” he groans one sunup, Billy quietly tracing circles with his fingertips on Robin’s bare chest as they lay side by side in the small bed. “I’ve always known what to get her, it’s never been that much an issue, has it?” “You gave her a dandelion you tore from her own garden two years ago, if I’m not wrong,” Billy shrugs. Robin really did. That’s the thing, though—he gave her her own flower and she jumped to hug him nonetheless. “What’s going on with us?” he mumbles, almost pouting. “’T used to be real simple, ya know? She’d bruise her knee and I’d kiss it better. She’d kick me to the bloody ground and then we’d have a cuppa, and that was that. Now it’s like I’m… like I’m dancing ‘round her, and she’s just laughing at me ‘cause I got no clue what the moves are.” Billy scoffs at that. “Mate, how long we gon’ pretend ya two ain’t both dancing, eh?”

Robin sits up at that, gives Billy an incredulous look. “What.” “Look, Rob, she came to talk to me, alright? And she’s a real doll at coverin’ up her feelings, your Maria, but she ain’t unreadable. She’s-“ “Came to talk to you? When? _Why_?” “Getting there, mate. See, this girl’s been making eyes at you since I’ve known her, and you might’ve always been clueless in that department, don’t mean I’m wrong. And she still came to tell me she’s happy that you got someone,” Billy huffs out, half-laughing. “What’d you tell her is going on with us two, my _lord_?”

Billy never brings up Robin’s higher status, not unless there’s something seriously disturbing him. “Nothing! I told her nothing, and what’s gotten into you, saying Maria’s making eyes at me?” “She bloody loves you, you twat. But her sweet soul might just give up on dreaming if you keep up this whole game,” Billy exclaims, gesturing to the small space between their naked bodies. Robin flinches at his tone. “You could just tell me you don’t want me, no need to make up excu-“ “Oh, for Christ’s sake! If you didn’t drive me out of my mind, I wouldn’t share your bed, mate, you know that. But,” the fondness that sneaked into his tone for a second there dissolves into that same unfamiliar rage from the start of the conversation, “this ain’t about what our flesh wants, silly. You two are in _love_ with each other. Much as I enjoy getting down and dirty with you, much as I know _you_ enjoy it, you got a shot at something real there. Don’t let her slip away, my cock ain’t worth it.” Billy’s voice edges on joking now, and Robin is still very much in shock; perhaps that brings him to wrap a hand around the back of Billy’s neck and draw their mouths together. They laugh in the kiss, Billy condescending and Robin startled, terrified, relieved. “You’re a genius, I ever tell you that?” he pulls back a tad to look Billy in the eyes. “Someone needed to do the thinkin’ for once,” Billy shrugs, his lips stretched in a grin. Robin kisses him again, not like a starving man, not like he usually does – just a peck. Then he gets up from the bed and dresses, in a sort of haze still. “I expect to be made best man,” Billy hollers after him as Robin rushes out of the house. Who better, Robin chuckles to himself.

Marmaduke listens, nodding and humming at all the appropriate places, and only when Robin ends his speech does he burst into laughter, bending over and holding on to his stomach with one arm, almost shedding tears. “You… didn’t know?!” the cook chokes out once he somewhat calms down, breathless. “How was I supposed to _know_?” Robin groans. He’s been thinking the whole way to the Merryweather castle, and the elation of his bedroom gradually became panic. (What if Billy’s advice has come late, what if she’s already overcome whatever feelings she might’ve had?) “Every time I’ve thought about her that way, it felt wrong, I figured it would be gross of me to-“ “To what, have feelings? Mon dieu, Robin! _Shame_ on you.” “No, I… I mean, I got feelings alright. Just, well with her being the Moon Princess and me being in a mob, it seemed untidy – and then we were friends, right, friendship is supposed to be... pure, I don’t know.” “So you what, you just went and told yourself you didn’t love her?”

Now that he thinks about it, now that he’s been thinking only about it for two hours… “Pretty much, yeah.” “And instead of with her, you went with Patrick’s boy.” “No, that was a whole ‘nother thing,” Robin starts, bringing the chef to grimace in disbelief. “It really was, I swear. Billy’s always been my best mate, it made sense. Plus we’ve never been involved, just in bed.” “If you insist.” “So what do I do about her?” Marmaduke smiles at that, like a father whose son is taking his first steps. “You talk to her, of course.” “You agree, then? That she shares my feelings?” “You’re not alone in disrupting my cooking, my boy. Now that I mention that, d’you want to help me with the supper? I haven’t prepared moussaka in so long, I could use some-“ “See ya later, old man.”

When Robin enters Dorothea’s bedroom he finds her sleeping, Miss Heliotrope snoring softly in her chair by the bed, Maria nowhere in sight. Could be either in the library or in her own room, then. Robin faintly hopes it’s the former. All these years and she’s never invited him in her chamber. He doubts he’d be welcome now, even if she does turn out to feel for him what he feels for her. And more he dwells on it, more he discovers his love could fill up the ocean.

He finds her in between H and I, a brick of a book in her lap and a pile of equally monstrously sized ones next to her lounger. She seems not to have noted his arrival, her forehead crinkled in concentration, her delicate fingers tracing the words on the page in synch with her eyes. He clears his throat and she jumps in her seat, looks up in horror for a second before her expression switches to fond annoyance. “What have I told you about scaring the living hell out of not-so-present people?” she scolds him, and he loves it. “Had something important to talk t’ you about, princess.” He watches as she presses a bookmark in the middle, closes the book shut, places it on top of the pile, crosses her legs. He wishes he had written down a speech, went over one in his head at least, when she looks at him all expecting. “Well?” “Er, it’s- my heart’s the topic here, I know we don’t talk feelings usually but I’ve never quite… fallen so hard before, not ever, and you’re, uh,” he’s stammering, _great_ , “what I mean to say is, you matter a whole lot to me, more than anyone else really, and-“ “Robin, I already told you I’m happy for you,” she interrupts him, her voice sweet but her eyes a little tight around the edges. And even like this, she’s more beautiful than any picture he’s seen. “I’m, uh, it’s not about that at all—that was nothing serious, I didn’t say so?”

“Was?” she whispers, and he can feel his lips stretching in a grin on their own accord as he nods. “Was. Me and Billy only had this agreement because neither of was smart ‘nough to figure out he’s in love with someone else.” “So he’s…?” “Ah, he may as well be, but I’m talking of meself here.” He pauses, waits to see if she’ll understand now. Her face is all puzzled for a good moment, then her small mouth forms into an “o”. She looks up at him, eyebrows raised, smile tiny and disbelieving. He nods again, slower this time. “Maria, I’ve been awfully thick all these years, I know that now, and you have every right to tell me to sod off, but for all it’s worth-“ “Robin, I think you need to stop talking,” she rises to her feet, takes a step forward, reaches her palm to cup his cheek. Their mouths fit together like never have they had a greater purpose; when he wraps his arms around her, drawing their bodies as close as possible, he knows they were designed for this. He pushes her against the book case. She giggles against his lips, looks at him with darkened eyes. “Want to see my room?” The sound of her voice alone sends shivers down his spine, but it’s still too soon, no matter how late it seems in fact. “Maria, we don’t have to…” “Robin, it’s been years and you want me to wait _more?_ ”

A solid argument, he finds himself admitting.

“You couldn’t have gotten me anything better for my birthday,” she smiles lazily, hours (or days, he isn’t sure) later. He feels like punching the air in triumph; all that escapes him is a relieved sigh instead. “God, you’ve got no idea how much time I spent on coming up with a present! I was going for a necklace, but…” “Necklace? _Really_?” she mocks, and he groans in frustration. “I don’t know, I wanted to give you something pretty.” “Well, mark that a success,” she waggles her eyebrows, still in the humor. He feels his whole face burning up to the tips of his ears. “I love you, you know?” saying it outright is more a confession than the entire prior talk, hell, it’s more a confession than what he’s been doing to her lithe body all afternoon, but there’s no room for insecurities or doubt in him anymore. “I know,” she leans up to press a kiss against his temple. “I love you too.”

 


End file.
